


La Petite Mort

by 823freckles



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, I apologize for nothing, Mostly Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 06:39:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1734818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/823freckles/pseuds/823freckles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal visits Alana upon his escape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Petite Mort

**Author's Note:**

> I was prompted to write Alana’s vengeance-y hate sex and pinning the other against the wall by separate people. This is what happened. I don’t even know. La petite mort is a euphemism for orgasm, if you aren’t familiar with the term. Okay, moving on to the fic...

Alana woke to three missed calls on her cell phone. They were all from Will. The messages warned her; Hannibal Lecter has escaped from custody. She hopped from her bed and walked quickly to her laptop, which was sitting on the easy chair in the corner of her bedroom. She knelt down in front of the chair; she flipped it open and loaded the Tattle Crime website. The headline loaded first: Bloodbath! Hannibal the Cannibal Eludes Capture After Butchering Three in Escape. 

The photograph loaded last; the image splashed across her screen. She covered her mouth at the sight of a man with chunks of his face ripped off.

Ripped off as if by teeth.

“I’d expect you to get your news from a better source than Freddie Lounds, my dear.”

Alana gasped and spun on her haunches. Her heart thrashed like a trapped bird in her chest. Hannibal Lecter stood behind her in an ill-fitting, obviously borrowed dress shirt and pants, framed in the light from her hallway. He looked like a fallen angel in the light. She remembered how she’d last seen him looking at her like this, covered in Jack’s blood and gazing at her with open regret. As she awkwardly stood, he moved forward with uncanny speed. She found herself caught between the chair and the killer. The trapped bird moved to her throat, and she found herself making a noise that sounded like a sick squawk. She tried to inch her way past him; for what purpose, she didn’t know. All Alana knew was that she had to survive, some way, some how. 

Hannibal watched her for a moment. Then with a tilt of his head, his hand darted out and grasped her neck. “Stay,” he said. 

As if she had any choice.

She stilled beneath the hand on her throat as she thought frantically. Go along with it, or struggle? What might make him stop? She could feel her pulse beating a drummer’s last beat in her neck beneath his palm as it tightened around her throat. Alana could see fireworks bursting in front of her eyes as the life was strangled out of her. Struggle, then, was her choice, and she raised her hands to his strong arms, clawing at them. The firework bursts of light stopped as grey started to creep into her vision from the edges.

Then the hand around her throat was abruptly gone. Alana sucked in a fiery lungful of air, which was promptly stolen from her yet again by Hannibal’s lips on hers. Alana raised her open hand to strike at Hannibal, but he caught her rising wrist in his own hand. Before her other hand could start its path to his face, he grasped her other wrist and held both of her arms down. Then he backed her up against her bedroom wall.

Alana was pinned between Hannibal and the wall. On her back, she could feel the texture of the paint snagging at her silk nightgown. On her front, all she felt was Hannibal, the soft-hard of him pressed against her from her head to her feet. His soft lips caressed her mouth, parting her lips beneath his own. And his hard erection pressed against her belly. Alana gasped in the air Hannibal breathed out. Out, in, out, in; their breath moved in tandem as his mouth devoured her own. 

He tasted like flesh, and Alana felt a shiver caress her spine. Her lips parted seemingly of their own accord, and she felt his tongue stroke her own. Then he moved his mouth down to her neck, where he sucked, sucked, bit. He marked her, reminding her of the claim he still had on her body. “And my heart,” she thought. A tear rolled down her cheek. Hannibal raised his head and watched the tear’s path down her cheek. As it reached her chin, he leaned forward and his tongue darted out to capture the salty tear. He closed his eyes briefly, as if savoring the taste of her tear, then opened his eyes. He moved his mouth back to her neck, where he bit again.

Still gasping for air, Alana whispered, “You told me… _oh_ …that you would not call on me.” 

“I lied,” he groaned against her throbbing neck. He bit again, hard enough that Alana knew he must have drawn blood. Then he licked her aching neck. She wondered how all her bodily fluids tasted on his lips, and if the taste of her made him hungry.

“Did you lie about killing me too?”

He thrust against her, his length pressed up against her soft stomach. She threw back her head and cried out. He answered her question after another thrust. “La petite mort, Alana. That is the only way I will ever consign you to a death at my hand...”

He brought his lips down on hers again, then whispered against them, “Or at my mouth. Which do you prefer, Alana?”

“God, both,” her mind screamed at her. But her mouth opened, and what came out was “Let me go.”

Hannibal backed away immediately. Alana stood in the coldness left by his sudden absence. She wrapped her arms around her shaking body. 

“I’ll stop. If you tell me to, I’ll leave now, and never call on you again.”

Alana considered the monster who stood in front of her. She was so angry. It had taken her nearly the whole year to recover physically from the events at Hannibal’s house, and she was still in physical therapy. She hadn’t recovered emotionally yet. Thus her heart betrayed her in the end, as she always knew it would. “You stay, but on my terms.” 

Hannibal inclined his head at her in agreement. “For as long as I can, my dear.”

“Just once more, I need him just once more,” she told herself. She walked forward and shoved him backwards. “On the bed,” she commanded as she shoved him again, and he fell willingly onto her mattress with a small bounce. He scooted back so that he lay prone on her mattress, her willing victim now. His eyes glittered like garnets in the light filtering through her shades. Alana climbed over him and sat on his midsection, her bottom coming to rest against his cock tenting his dress pants. He huffed out a breath as she rubbed her behind against him. Then she leaned forward and ripped his shirt open. 

She ran her nails gently up and down his chest. Then her fingers turned into claws, and she scratched roughly at his chest, her nails drawing tiny rivulets of blood that matted in his chest hair. He growled at her, but didn’t move to stop her as she drew more blood from his willing body. 

Then she scooted forward and ran her wet cunt over his stomach, her juices mixing with the blood there. As she moved over his stomach to his chest and finally to his mouth, he grasped her hips and brought her cunt down on his mouth. 

Alana threw back her head and screamed as Hannibal sucked her pussy lips into his hot mouth. She grasped her headboard and and watched as her knuckles turned white against the cherry wood while Hannibal’s mouth continued its ministrations on her. She thought, “I’m still in control. Just a little while longer…”

Hannibal moved his tongue to circle her clitoris, and she moaned. He moaned in response, and she could feel his moan vibrate against her core. He licked and suckled on her pussy until she was so, so close…but she stopped him right before she had her orgasm by sliding down his face, leaving slick trails of arousal and saliva in her wake.

She shimmied down his body, hands fumbling at his fly. When she freed his erection, she climbed on top of him without even removing his pants. She lowered herself onto his cock, relishing at the sweet stretch of him inside of her. Then she rode him. She let all of her anger flow through her as she pulled at his hair and pounded at his chest. He took it all, thrusting up into her, meeting her bucking thrusts against him with his own. 

Did he notice when her hand strayed beneath her pillow, where she had kept the knife for the past year? If he did, he made no move to stop her. She leaned back on her haunches, balancing herself with strong thighs, ignoring the pain in her aching spine. Alana whipped the knife out and stabbed Hannibal right through the heart.

As the hot blood gushed around the hilt of the knife and around her fingers when she pulled the knife from his chest, Alana came.

Le grand mort accompanied la petite mort; Hannibal groaned in agony as Alana cried out in ecstasy. His hands started to lift toward her, then fell to his sides. She watched the light leave those garnet eyes as her orgasm subsided.

She took her lover’s life on her terms. She fell onto his prone body and laughed between sobs.


End file.
